


Smells Like Twin Spirit

by Crollalanza



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Tokyo Training Camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 13:24:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10491837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: Miya Atsumu attends the Tokyo Training Camp with his customary smile and smart remarks, but no one can see the ache inside. How can he make this right, when his other (better?) half is missing?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nautilics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilics/gifts).



> Discovering that Miya Atsumu has a twin enlivened my twitter feed enormously last week. 
> 
> I'm not sure Mandy will ever recover, so this is for her. 
> 
> And I wondered why Osamu wasn't at training camp.
> 
> Also, thank you Eliza for your encouragement yesterday.

It’s a twin thing. That’s what everyone tells them when they connect on court.

It’s uncanny! Their admirers say

It’s creepy, scorn their detractors.

Atsumu doesn’t care. He smiles at the attention, whatever it is. One of his small smiles, with his eyes widening enough to look innocent before he lowers his lids to deliver a slick burn.

 

‘Well, aren’t you the Goody-Two Shoes,’ he condemns, and then waits for Kageyama-kun’s reaction.

He watches the bemusement, the brows drawing in, watches as the comprehension dawns on Kageyama’s face and he struggles for a response. Atsumu knows it’ll be fun watching him splutter – the Kageyama kid might have the label of ‘genius’ but his social inadequacy makes him all too vulnerable.

To his surprise, Kageyama doesn’t attempt a verbal response. The kid blinks a little, trying to compute whether it was an insult or not (it was) and stands at the back of the court. His hair seems to have grown over his eyes, and there’s a dark, pinched look to his face, his expression the epitome of brooding.

 _Liven up. Yell at me, or something_. And he’s kinda surprised because Kageyama, from what he’d heard hadn’t been backward in coming forward when faced with Sakusa insulting his team. And the screeching demands from Hoshiumi, his ‘NOTICE ME KOUHAI!’ shouts had instigated the tiniest glimmer of a smile from Kageyama.

He picks the ball back up and returns to practise, but his face doesn’t lose that tortured expression, and Atsumu wonders if the small pang in his stomach is hunger or a conscience tugging at him.

 

**_“What are the other setters like? Anyone interesting?”_ **

_New guy from Miyagi._

**_“Karasuno? Is that right?”_ **

_Yeah, they beat Shiratorizawa._

**“ _And he interests you, why?”_**

_Working out what makes him tick is the interesting part. You know that._

**_“Play nice.”_ **

_Sure._

But he doesn’t think _he_ believes him.

Kageyama rooms with a wing spiker from Shinzen. Another first year and one Atsumu hadn’t heard anything about. He knows Shinzen – vaguely – another Tokyo team totally up themselves, who can’t quite believe they’re not _that_ good.  The kid has talent, but his team aren’t going to Nationals, so he passes on him, deciding to concentrate on the rivals he knows he could soon face.

In a game, they switch around. Atsumu plays Libero and he laughs, loving the idea. It’s fun, he says out loud to whoever’s listening, and it is, but it’s also useful – not just because he can practise receives, but because he can observe from the sidelines, watch Hoshiumi set and then fret, when Sakusa takes him time to analyse.

And he wonders if Sakusa’s cautious approach is why he’s one of the top three, or whether he’d be the undisputed number one if he had some of Bokuto’s fire.

**_“Hmm, possible.”_ **

_But?_

**_“More likely Bokuto would be better if he calmed down.”_ **

With a chance for a Libero’s toss, Atsumu at last manages to set for Kageyama. It’s pinpoint accurate, one that he prides himself on setting, one that will give nothing away, except that a normal spiker will no doubt think he’s the genius behind it. But this is Kageyama from Karasuno, the team who took down Shiratorizawa under his auspices, and despite his often-dumb demeanour, Atsumu knows he’s noticed. Then Kageyama spikes, looking freer than he had when setting, as if playing is fun again and not something he has to wear like a cloak, or carry like a golden baton to conduct the team.

“Your tosses are easy to hit,” he says.

“Only scrubs can’t hit my tosses,” Atsumu replies effecting laziness, but his heart’s thumping and a delicious thrill runs up and down his spine.

_Yep, you know, don’t you? You can tell the difference._

**_“What’s he like?”_ **

_Not bad._

**_“Wow, that’s some praise from you.”_ **

_You could hardly expect me to say he’s shit after his team took down Ushiwaka._

**_“IDK, you’d manage somehow. You’re not exactly kind about Sakusa.”_ **

_Kiyoomi’s an ass. And it’s fun winding him up._

**_“I remember.”_ **

 

Maybe he should make that call.

A hand claps on his shoulder. Atsumu’s about to shrug it off, when he realises who it is and smiles instead.

“How are you?” It’s a measured question. Not one asked out of politeness, but with weight behind it. The asker genuinely wants to know.

“I’m ...” He considers. “I’m good, thank you, Fuki-sensei,” he replies to the coach.

He means it. Things are good. Not fantastic. They can’t be as good as last year, but there are compensations. “The new guys are interesting,” he continues.

Fuki knows Atsumu’s fishing. He claps his harder on the back and laughs. “You mean Kageyama, right. Miyagi’s ‘genius.’ “

“I thought he’d be more like Oikawa-san. That is his old kouhai, isn’t it?”

“Is it?” Fuki asks, but his eyes are gleaming.

“Oikawa-san mentioned him,” Atsumu persists. “Said there was a kid who’d crashed and burnt. _He_ said genius wasn’t everything.”

Fuki is still smiling. He knows, he knows, _he knows_ something, but now he’s closing up like a clam, and Atsumu’s pretty sure he’ll prise no more out of him.

“Oikawa Tooru has your ability to give the spiker the toss he can most utilise,” Fuki murmurs. “And he understood the pitfalls of being proclaimed a ‘genius’ or ‘blessed’.”

And that sounds like a warning.  Fuki’s fingers clench and then he releases Atsumu. “You played well. Libero suits you.”

“Ha, I’m a Setter, sensei! But, yes, it was fun. I like mixing it up.”

Fuki’s eyes narrow, but his reproof is mild. “I’ve noticed, and I’m glad it’s fun for you. It should be. For everyone.” He starts to walk off, turning only when he reaches the door. “It’s good that you’re settling in, Miya-kun, and making _new_ connections.”

Atsumu stares at his phone, wondering whether to make his call, but he’s hungry now, and he _should_ make nice with the others.  (It’s not prevarication. It really isn’t.)

Sitting with Komori is fun. The guy ‘gets him’ and they laugh together. He’s on his own, Sakusa deciding to head for the baths early before he eats. Across the hall, some of the first years sit, and Komori mentions joining them, but just as Atsumu’s about to acquiesce, Sakusa appears. He stands in front of them, his eyes wary but boring into Atsumu.

“You can’t eat with that mask on,” Komori says idly, and pushes out the bench with his foot. “Join us.”

“You.” Sakusa says, voice muffled.

“Me?” Atsumu asks.

“You’re here.”

“I am. How perceptive you are, Sakusa-kun.”

“But you shouldn’t be. It’s not fair.”

“Huh?” Komori is confused, his mouth twitching between concern and laughter. “Kiyoomi-kun, what are you on about?”

“Germs. You could be contagious.”

Komori laughs louder. “We could all be contagious. No one knows unless they’re actually ill.”

“Miya shouldn’t have come when we’re all here.”

“I’m not ill,” Atsumu says at last. He picks up some broccoli with his chopsticks and begins to chew, keeping them waiting while he swallows, then sips at his water.

“But you could be.” Sakusa stares even closer, his eyes hooded. “You’re sweating.”

“I’ve been playing volleyball and haven’t showered,” Atsumu replies. “Plus I just ate a chilli.”

“You’re being even more obtuse, Kiyoomi-kun” Komori says and begins to sigh out an apology. “He gets worse approaching Nationals. I keep telling him that a cold isn’t going to last long, and won’t put him off his game, but you know what he’s like.”

Atsumu wants to laugh, but he knows exactly what Sakusa fears.

And he’s not altogether sure he blames him, but even so, it still sticks in his craw that this scrub has brought the subject up.

“Not a cold,” Sakusa says. He shuffles a little closer, still not removing the mask. “Mono.”

 “I don’t have it,” Atsumu says clearly.  He picks up some chicken, intent on eating it but the silence around him is deafening.

“But your bro-”

“What’s this?” Komori is blinking, looking from Sakusa to Atsumu.

“My brother had it,” Atsumu agrees, willing his voice to remain calm, to not crack or reflect any inch of the bitterness he feels. “He’s well now.”

“But he’s not _here_. That’s why it’s just you.  I asked the sensei,” Sakusa says. “He’s been ill for a while and mono is catching. Mono is very infectious. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t have it. I’m either immune or I’m lucky,” Atsumu replies, and yawns to show his boredom with the topic.

“Oh! That’s why Osamu’s not here. I ...” Komori blinks again. “I assumed he hadn’t been invited.”

“Of course he was invited!” Atsumu snaps. But he’s lying. What’s the point in inviting a boy who until a week ago could barely drag himself out of bed?

 _“Calm down.”_   He can hear the voice now, and feel the arm tucking into his own, pulling him away from the confrontation.

So he smiles and leans back a little. “I have full clearance from the doctors. Fuki-sensei wouldn’t want to expose his volleyball elite, after all.” Then he flicks the hair from his face and licks his lips. “Not that I’d want to kiss you, Kiyoomi-chan.”

“How can you be well?” Sakusa still stands, his attitude unrelenting. “He’s your twin.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Atsumu laughs. He is light and airy, smile mocking, his hair hanging across his eyes like a veil.

 

(He’d checked his temperature every day, moved out of the room they shared and shifted onto the futon in the lounge. He wore a mask, wore several, disposing of them frequently. And during the worst times, when Osamu had been delirious and screaming, desperate for cold drinks, then spewing them over his bed sheets, Atsumu had been the other side of the door, hunched and slumped on the floor, listening, praying, hoping – always hoping – that this was a nightmare he’d soon wake from.

Sometimes he thought it would have been better if he’d caught it too so the pair of them could suffer together. But in his more lucid moments, Osamu had ordered him to leave.

“Text me if you’re desperate,” he’d rasped, then thrown a tennis ball across the room, forcing Atsumu to leave.

So he’d texted, more for Osamu’s sake than his own, because despite the reassurance, he didn’t need messages on his phone. Osamu’s always there, even when he’s not.)

 

“Anyway,” Atsumu says, picking up his tray and getting to his feet. “I’ll leave you to it. Nice chatting, Komori. Have fun, Sakusa. I’ll try not to breathe near you, okay?”

“Stay,” Komori says.

“Nah, I got things to do.”

 

 

 

“Hey. How is it?” Osamu’s voice is clear and strong, no trace of the gravel that wrecked his throat.

“Ah, it’s fine.” Atsumu lies back on his bunk, staring up at the ceiling.

“C’mon, tell me more. I’m dying of boredom here.”

“You’d die of boredom here. All the fun people have moved on.” He yawns. “I almost miss Ushiwaka.”

“Is everyone _that_ dull?”

“A Goody Two-Shoes setter, Hoshiumi moaning about being short, then moaning when no one comments on it. Sakusa’s being his usual precious self. I guess Komori’s cool.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes.” He rolled his eyes, retaliating with, “Have you rested?”

“I’m about to. I’m shattered.”

Atsumu’s stomach starts to gripe and he clenches his hand into a fist. “What? Are you okay? It’s not a relapse, is it?”

“Calm the fuck down.” Osamu’s laughing. “I went for a cycle. Took a detour into school.”

“Huh?”

“Went to practice, Nii-chan.”

“And?”  He holds his breath.

“My arms ache. I thought my legs were going to buckle, but –” Osamu takes a breath and Atsumu can feel the lightening of his heart, in perfect unison with his own. “It was fucking brilliant.”

_Thank God. It’s going to be okay. We’ll be back to normal real soon._

“I wish you were here.”

“There in spirit”

“I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this :D
> 
> I can see me writing more twin stories, but maybe I'll wait to find out a little more about the pair of them next time.


End file.
